Part 6

Don't be vexed with me. "I'll see if she's at home," I said. "Oh, yes, woman, Miss Trelawny's at home," said he, and hobbled straight in. I've shut him in the Telfers' room----

[_There are three distinct raps, with a stick, at the right-hand door._]

_Rose. and Mrs. Mossop._

Oh-h!

_Rose._

[_Faintly._] Open it.

[_Mrs. Mossop opens the door, and Sir William enters. He is feebler, more decrepit, than when last seen. He wears a plaid about his shoulders and walks with the aid of a stick._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door._] Ah, and a sweet thing Miss Trelawny is----!

_Sir William._

[_Turning to her._] Are you a relative?

_Mrs. Mossop._

No, I am _not_ a relative----!

_Sir William._

Go. [_She departs; he closes the door with the end of his stick. Facing Rose._] My mind is not commonly a wavering one, Miss Trelawny, but it has taken me some time--months--to decide upon calling on ye.

_Rose._

Won't you sit down?

_Sir William._

[_After a pause of hesitation, sitting upon the dress-basket._] Ugh!

_Rose._

[_With quiet dignity._] Have we no chairs? Do we lack chairs here, Sir William?

[_He gives her a quick, keen look, then rises and walks to the fire._]

_Sir William._

[_Suddenly, bringing his stick down upon the table with violence._] My grandson! my grandson! where is he?

_Rose._

Arthur!

_Sir William._

I had but one.

_Rose._

Isn't he--in Cavendish Square--?

_Sir William._

Isn't he in Cavendish Square! no, he is not in Cavendish Square, as you know well.

_Rose._

Oh, I don't know----

_Sir William._

Tsch!

_Rose._

When did he leave you?

_Sir William._

Tsch!

_Rose._

When?

_Sir William._

He made his escape during the night, 22d of August last--[_pointing his finger at her_] as you know well.

_Rose._

Sir William. I assure you---

_Sir William._

Tsch! [_Talcing off his gloves._] How often does he write to ye?

_Rose._

He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [_With drooping head._] He never writes now.

_Sir William._

Visits ye----?

_Rose._

No.

_Sir William._

Comes troubadouring-----?

_Rose._

No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night.

I refused to see him------[_With a catch in her breath._] Why, he may be----!

_Sir William._

[_Fumbling in his pocket._] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [_producing a small packet of letters_]. Arthur's alive, [_advancing to her_] and full of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him once a fortnight, posted in London----

_Rose._

[_Holding out her hand for the letters._] Oh!

_Sir William._

[_Putting them behind his back._] Hey!

_Rose._

[_Faintly._] I thought you wished me to read them. [_He yields them to her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it._] Ah, thank you.

_Sir William._

[_Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish._] What are ye doing, madam? what are ye doing?

[_He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing him, and opens the packet of letters._]

_Rose._

[_Reading a letter._] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this to be posted in London by a friend----"

_Sir William._

[_Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly._] A friend!

_Rose._

[_Looking up, with simple pride._] He would never call me that. [_Reading._] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day--" Ah----!

_Sir William._

Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [_Rising, she restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face._] What's come to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were.

_Rose._

[_Shaking her head._] No.

_Sir William._

[_Suspiciously. _] Less of the devil--?

_Rose._

_Sir William._ I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss Gower's, forgiveness.

_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff, uncomfortably._]Pi--i--i--sh! extraordinary change.

_Rose._

Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him?

_Sir William._

I!

_Rose._

Don't you love him now, the more? [_His head droops a little, and his hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid._] Let me take your shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out----

[_He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process._]

_Sir William._

I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble ye. [_Rising._] I'll not trouble ye---

[_He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round--speaking in an altered tone._] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye, as it used to be by all accounts----

[_The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a burlesque prince--cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc._]

_Avonia._

[_Unconsciously._] How's this, Rose------?

_Sir William._

Ah--h-h--h!

_Rose._

Oh, go away, 'Vonia!

_Avonia._

Sir Gower! [_To Sir William._] Good-morning.

[_She withdraws._]

_Sir William._

[_Pacing the room--again very violent._] Yes! and these are the associates you would have tempted my boy--my grandson--to herd with! [_Flourishing his stick._] Ah--h--h--h!

_Rose._

[_Sitting upon the basket--weakly._] That young lady doesn't live in that attire. She is preparing for the pantomime------

_Sir William._

[_Standing over her._] And now he's gone; lured away, I suspect, by one of ye--[_pointing to the center door_] by one of these harridans!----

[_Avonia reappears defiantly._]

_Avonia._

Look here, Sir Gower------

_Rose._

[_Rising._] Go, 'Vonia!

_Avonia._.

[_To Sir William._] We've met before, if you remember, in Cavendish Square----

_Rose._

[_Sitting again, helplessly._] Oh, Mrs. Gadd----!

_Sir William._

Mistress! a married lady!

_Avonia._

Yes, I spent some of my honeymoon at your house----

_Sir William._

What!

_Avonia._

Excuse my dress; it's all in the way of my business. Just one word about Rose.

_Rose._

Please, 'Vonia----!

_Avonia._

[_To Sir William, who is glaring at her in horror._] Now, there's nothing to stare at, Sir Gower. If you must look anywhere in particular, look at that poor thing. A nice predicament you've brought her to!

_Sir William._

Sir----! [_Correcting himself._]. Madam!

_Avonia._.

You've brought her to beggary, amongst you. You've broken her heart; and, what's worse, you've made her genteel. She can't act, since she left your mansion; she can only mope about the stage with her eyes fixed like a person in a dream--dreaming of him, I suppose, and of what it is to be a lady. And first she's put upon half-salary; and then, to-day, she gets the sack--the entire sack, Sir Gower! So there's nothing left for her but to starve, or to make artificial flowers. Miss Trelawny I'm speaking of! [_Going to Rose, and embracing her._] Our Rose! our Trelawny! [_To Rose, breaking down._] Excuse me for interfering, ducky. [_Retiring, in tears._] Good-day, Sir Gower. [_She goes out._]

_Sir William._

[_After a pause, to Rose._] Is this--the case?

_Rose._

[_Standing, and speaking in a low voice._] Yes. As you have noticed, fortune has turned against me, rather.

_Sir William._.

[_Penitently._] I--I'm sorry, ma'am. I--I believe ye've kept your word to us concerning Arthur. I-I----

_Rose._

[_Not heeding him, looking before her, dreamily.'_] My mother knew how fickle fortune could be to us gypsies. One of the greatest actors that ever lived warned her of that---

_Sir William._

Miss Gower will also feel extremely--extremely----

_Rose._

Kean once warned mother of that.

_Sir William._

[_In an altered tone._] Kean? which Kean?

_Rose._

Edmund Kean. My mother acted with Edmund Kean when she was a girl.

_Sir William._

[_Approaching her slowly, speaking in a queer voice._] With Kean? with Kean!

_Rose._

Yes.

_Sir William._

[_At her side, in a whisper._] My dear, I--I've seen Edmund Kean.

_Rose._

Yes?

_Sir William._

A young man then, I was; quite different, from the man I am now--impulsive, excitable. Kean! [_Drawing a deep breath._] Ah, he was a _splendid gypsy!_

_Rose._

[_Looking down at the dress-basket._] I've a little fillet in there that my mother wore as Cordelia to Kean's Lear----

_Sir William._

I may have seen your mother also. I was somewhat different in those days----

_Rose._

[_Kneeling at the basket and opening it._] And the Order and chain, and the sword, he wore in Richard. He gave them to my father; I've always prized them. [_She drags to the surface a chain with an Order attached to it, and a sword-belt and sword--all very theatrical and tawdry--and a little gold fillet. She hands him the chain._] That's the Order.

_Sir William._

[_Handling it tenderly._] Kean! God bless me!

_Rose._

[_Holding up the fillet._] My poor mother's fillet.

_Sir William._

[_Looking at it_] I may have seen her. [_Thoughtfully._] I was a young man then. [_Looking at Rose steadily._]Put it on, my dear.

[_She goes to the mirror and puts on the fillet._]

_Sir William._

[_Examining the Order._] Lord bless us! how he stirred me! how he----!

[_He puts the chain over his shoulders. Rose turns to him._]

_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] There!

_Sir William._

[_Looking at her._] Cordelia! Cordelia--with Kean!

_Rose._

[_Adjusting the chain upon him._] This should hang so. [_Returning to the basket and taking up the sword-belt and sword._] Look!

_Sir William._

[_Handling them._] Kean! [_To her, in a whisper._] I'll tell ye! I'll tell ye! when I saw him as Richard--I was young and a fool--I'll tell ye--he almost fired me with an ambition to--to----[_Fumbling with the belt._] How did he carry this?

_Rose._

[_Fastening the belt, with the sword, round him._] In this way--

_Sir William._

Ah! [_He paces the stage, growling and muttering, and walking with a limp and one shoulder hunched. She watches him, seriously._] Ah! he was a little man too! I remember him! as if it were last night!

I remember----- [_Pausing and looking at her fixedly._] My dear, your prospects in life have been injured by your unhappy acquaintanceship with my grandson.

_Rose._

[_Gazing into the fire._] Poor Arthur's prospects in life--what of them?

_Sir William._

[_Testily._] Tsch, tsch, tsch!

_Rose._

If I knew where he is----!

_Sir William._

Miss Trelawny, if you cannot act, you cannot earn your living.

_Rose._

How is he earning _his_ living?

_Sir William._

And if you cannot earn your living, you must be provided for.

_Rose._

[_Turning to him._] Provided for?

_Sir William._

Miss Gower was kind enough to bring me here in a cab. She and I will discuss plans for making provision for ye while driving home.

_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] Oh, I beg you will do no such thing, Sir William.

_Sir William._

Hey!

_Rose._

I could not accept any help from you or Miss Gower.

_Sir William._

You must! you shall!

_Rose._

I will not.

_Sir William._

[_Touching the Order and the sword._] Ah!--yes, I--I'll buy these of ye, my dear----

_Rose._

Oh, no, no! not for hundreds of pounds! please take them off!

[_There is a hurried knocking at the door._]

_Sir William._

[_Startled._] Who's that? [_Struggling with the chain and belt._] Remove these------!

[_The handle is heard to rattle. Sir William disappears behind the curtains. Imogen opens the door and looks in._]

_Imogen._

[_Seeing only Rose, and coming to her and embracing her._] Rose darling, where is Tom Wrench?

_Rose._

He was here not long since----

_Imogen._

[_Going to the door and calling, desperately._] Tom! Tom Wrench! Mr. Wrench!

_Rose._

Is anything amiss?

_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Tom!

_Rose._

Imogen!

_Imogen._

[_Returning to Rose._] Oh, my dear, forgive my agitation---!

[_Tom enters, buoyantly, flourishing the manuscript of his play._]

_Tom._

I've found it! at the bottom of a box--"deeper than did ever plummet sound----"! [_To Imogen._]

Eh? what's the matter?

_Imogen._

Oh, Tom, old Mr. Morfew-----!

_Tom._

[_Blankly._] Isn't he willing---?

_Imogen._

[_With a gesture of despair._] I don't know. He's dead.

_Tom._

No!

_Imogen._

Three weeks ago. Oh, what a chance he has missed!

[_Tom bangs his manuscript down upon the table savagely._]

_Rose._

What is it, Tom? Imogen, what is it?

_Imogen._

[_Pacing the room._] I can think of no one else----

_Tom._

Done again!

_Imogen._

We shall lose it, of course--

_Rose._

Lose what?

_Tom._

The opportunity--her opportunity, _my_ opportunity, _your_ opportunity, Rose.

_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] _My_ opportunity, Tom?

_Tom._

[_Pointing to the manuscript._] My play--my comedy--my youngest born! Jenny has a theatre--could have one--has five hundred towards it, put down by a man who believes in my comedy, God bless him!--the only fellow who has ever believed----?

_Rose._

Oh, Tom! [_turning to Imogen_] oh, Imogen!

_Imogen._

My dear, five hundred! we want another five, at least.

_Rose._

Another five!

_Imogen._

Or eight.

_Tom._

And you are to play the part of Dora. Isn't she, Jenny--I mean, wasn't she?

_Imogen._

Certainly. Just the sort of simple little Miss you _could_ play now, Rose. And we thought that old Mr. Morfew would help us in the speculation. Speculation! it's a dead certainty!

_Tom._

_Dead_ certainty? poor Morfew!

_Imogen._

And here we are, stuck fast----!

_Tom._

[_Sitting upon the dress-basket dejectedly._] And they'll expect me to rehearse that dragon to-morrow with enthusiasm.

_Rose._

[_Putting her arm around his shoulder._] Never mind, Tom.

_Tom._

No, I won't----[_Taking her hand._] Oh,

_Rose._

[_Looking up at her._]Oh, Dora----!

[_Sir William, divested of his theatrical trappings, comes from behind the curtain._]

_Imogen._

Oh! Tom. [_Rising._] Eh?

_Rose._

[_Retreating_]. Sir William Gower, Tom----

_Sir William._

[_To Tom._] I had no wish to be disturbed, sir, and I withdrew [_bowing to Imogen_] when that lady entered the room. I have been a party, it appears, to a consultation upon a matter of business. [_To Tom._] Do I understand, sir, that you have been defeated in some project which would have served the interests of Miss Trelawny.

_Tom._

Y--y--yes, sir.

_Sir William._

Mr. Wicks

_Tom._

Wrench----

_Sir William._

Tsch! Sir, it would give me pleasure--it would give my grandson, Mr. Arthur Gower, pleasure--to be able to aid Miss Trelawny at the present moment.

_Tom._

S--s--sir William, w--w--would you like to hear my play----?

_Sir William._

[_Sharply._] Hey! [_Looking round._] Ho, ho!

_Tom._

My comedy?

_Sir William._

[_Cunningly._] So ye think I might be induced to fill the office ye designed for the late Mr.-- Mr. --------

_Imogen._

Morfew.

_Sir William._

Morfew, eh?

_Tom._

N--n--no, sir.

_Sir William._

No! no!

_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Yes!

_Sir William._

[_After a short pause, quietly._] Read your play, sir. [_Pointing to a chair at the table._] Sit down. [_To Rose and Imogen._] Sit down.

[_Tom goes to the chair indicated. Miss Gower's voice is heard outside the door._]

_Miss Gower._

[_Outside._] William! [_Rose opens the door; Miss Gower enters._] Oh, William, what has become of you? has anything dreadful happened?

_Sir William._

Sit down, Trafalgar. This gentleman is about to read a comedy. A cheer! [_Testily._] Are there no cheers here! [_Rose brings a chair and places it for Miss Gower beside Sir William's chair._] Sit down.

_Miss Gower._

[_Sitting, bewildered._] William, is all this--quite----?

_Sir William._

[_Sitting._] Yes, Trafalgar, quite in place--quite in place----

[_Imogen sits. Rose pulls the dress-basket round, as Colpoys and Gadd swagger in at the door, Colpoys smoking a pipe, Gadd a large cigar._]

_Sir William._

[_To Tom, referring to Gadd and Colpoys._] Friends of yours?

_Tom._

Yes, Sir William.

_Sir William._

[_To Gadd and Colpoys._] Sit down. [_Imperatively._] Sit down and be silent.

[_Gadd and Colpoys seat themselves upon the sofa, like men in a dream. Rose sits on the dress-basket._]

_Avonia._.

[_Opening the center door slightly--in an anxious voice._] Rose----!

_Sir William._

Come in, ma'am, come in! [_Avonia enters, coming to Rose. A cloak is now attached to the shoulders of Avonia's dress._] Sit down, ma'am, and be silent!

[_Avonia sits beside Rose, next to Miss Gower._]

_Miss Gower._

[_In horror._] Oh--h--h--h!

_Sir William._

[_Restraining her._] Quite in place, Trafalgar; quite in place. [_To Tom._] Now, sir!

_Tom._

[_Opening his manuscript and reading._] "Life, a comedy, by Thomas Wrench----"

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

THE FOURTH ACT.

_The scene represents the stage of a theatre with the proscenium arch, and the dark and empty auditorium in the distance. The curtain is raised. The stage extends a few feet beyond the line of the proscenium, and is terminated by a row of old-fashioned footlights with metal reflectors. On the left, from the proscenium arch runs a wall, in which is an open doorway supposed to admit to the Green-room. Right and left of the stage are the "P." and "O. P." and the first and second entrances, with wings running in grooves, according to the old fashion. Against the wall are some "flats." Just below the footlights is a T-light, burning gas, and below this the prompt-table. On the right of the prompt-table is a chair, and on the left another. Against the edge of the proscenium arch is another chair; and nearer, on the right, stands a large throne-chair, with a gilt frame and red velvet seat, now much dilapidated. In the "second entrance" there are a "property" stool, a table, and a chair, all of a similar style to the throne-chair and in like condition, and on the center, as if placed therefor the purpose of rehearsal, are a small circular table and a chair. On this table is a work-basket containing a ball of wool and a pair of knitting-needles; and on the prompt-table there is a book. A faded and ragged green baize covers the floor of the stage. The wings, and the flats and borders, suggest by their appearance a theatre fallen somewhat into decay. The light is a dismal one, but it is relieved by a shaft of' sunlight entering through a window in the flies on the right._

[_Mrs. Telfer is seated upon the throne-chair, in an attitude of dejection. Telfer enters from the Green-room._]

_Telfer._

[_Coming to her._] Is that you, Violet?

_Mrs. Telfer._

Is the reading over?

_Telfer._

Almost. My part is confined to the latter 'alf of the second act; so being close to the Green-room door [_with a sigh_], I stole away.

_Mrs. Telfer._

It affords you no opportunity, James?

_Telfer._

[_Shaking his head._] A mere fragment.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Rising._]Well, but a few good speeches to a man of your stamp----

_Telfer._

Yes, but this is so line-y, Violet; so very line-y. And what d'ye think the character is described as?

_Mrs. Telfer._

What?

_Telfer._

"An old, stagey, out-of-date actor."

[_They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Falteringly._] Will you--be able--to get near it, James?

_Telfer._

[_Looking away from her._] I dare say-----

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Laying a hand upon his shoulder._] That's all right, then.

_Telfer._

And you--what have they called you for, if you're not in the play? They 'ave not dared to suggest understudy?

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Playing with her fingers._]They don't ask me to act at all, James.

_Telfer._

Don't ask you---!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Miss Parrott offers me the position of Wardrobe-mistress.

_Telfer._

Violet!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Hush!

_Telfer._

Let us both go home.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Restraining him._] No, let us remain. We've been idle six months, and I can't bear to see you without your watch and all your comforts about you.

_Telfer._

[_Pointing toward the Green-room._] And so this new-fangled stuff, and these dandified people, are to push us, and such as us, from our stools!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Yes, James, just as some other new fashion will, in course of time, push _them_ from their stools.

[_From the Green-room comes the sound of a slight clapping of hands, followed by a murmur of voices. The Telfers move away. Imogen, elaborately dressed, enters from the Green-room and goes leisurely to the prompt-table. She is followed by Tom, manuscript in hand, smarter than usual in appearance; and he by O'Dwyer,--an excitable Irishman of about forty, with an extravagant head of hair,--who carries a small bundle of "parts" in brown-paper covers. Tom and O'Dwyer join Imogen._]

_O'Dwyer._

[_To Tom._] Mr. Wrench, I congratulate ye; I have that honor, sir. Your piece will do, sir; it will take the town, mark me.

_Tom._

Thank you, O'Dwyer.

_Imogen._

Look at the sunshine! there's a good omen, at any rate.

_O'Dwyer._

Oh, sunshine's nothing. [_To Tom._] But did ye observe the gloom on their faces whilst ye were read in'?

_Imogen._

[_Anxiously._] Yes, they did look glum.

_O'Dwyer._

Glum! it might have been a funeral! There's a healthy prognostication for ye, if ye loike! it's infallible.

[_A keen-faced gentleman and a lady enter, from the Green-room, and stroll across the stage to the right, where they lean against the wings and talk. Then two young gentlemen enter, and Rose follows._]

Note.--The actors and the actress appearing for the first time in this act, as members of the Pantheon Company, are outwardly greatly superior to the Gadds, the Telfers, and Colpoys.

_Rose._

[_Shaking hands with Telfer._] Why didn't you sit near me, Mr. Telfer? [_Going to Mrs. Telfer._] Fancy our being together again, and at the West End! [_To Telfer._] Do you like the play?

_Telfer._

Like it! there's not a speech in it, my dear--not a real speech; nothing to dig your teeth into---

_O'Dwyer._

[_Allotting the parts, under the direction of Tom and Imogen._] Mr. Mortimer! [_One of the young gentlemen advances and receives his part from O'Dwyer, and retires, reading it._] Mr. Denzil!

[_The keen-faced gentleman takes his part, then joins Imogen on her left and talks to her. The lady now has something to say to the solitary young gentleman._]

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part._] Miss Brewster.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being towards him._] Come here, my love.

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no, O'Dwyer--not your "love."

_O'Dwyer._

[_Perplexed._] Not?

_Tom._

No.

_O'Dwyer._

No?

_Tom._

Why, you are meeting her this morning for the first time.

_O'Dwyer._

That's true enough. [_Approaching the lady and handing her the part._] Miss Brewster.

_The Lady._

Much obliged.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Quietly to her._] It 'll fit ye like a glove, darlin'. [_The lady sits, conning her part. O'Dwyer returns to the table._]

_Telfer._

[_To Rose._] Your lover in the play? which of these young sparks plays your lover--Harold or Gerald----?

_Rose._

Gerald. I don't know. There are some people not here to-day, I believe.

_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Hunston!

[_The second young gentleman advances, receives his part, and joins the other young gentleman in the wings._]

_Rose._

Not that young man, I hope. Isn't he a little bandy?

_Telfer._

One of the finest Macduffs I ever fought with was bow-legged.

_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Teller.

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no--Telfer.

_O'Dwyer._

Telfer!

[_Telfer draws himself erect, puts his hand in his breast, but otherwise remains stationary._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Anxiously._] That's you, James.

_O'Dwyer._

Come on, Mr. Telfer! look alive, sir!

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Sssh, sssh, sssh! don't, don't----!

[_Telfer advances to the prompt-table, slowly. He receives his part from O'Dwyer. To Telfer, awkwardly._] I--I hope the little part of Poggs appeals to you, Mr. Telfer. Only a sketch, of course; but there was nothing else--quite--in your-------

_Telfer._

Nothing? to whose share does the Earl fall?

_Tom._

Oh; Mr. Denzil plays Lord Parracourt.